The Klutz Olympics

           Once again, I have come up with a great idea. The Olympics just started and we are watching people who are so athletic that they seem to be created by animators. I fully expect one of them to leap into the air and zoom about like Superman, using their country’s flag as a cape.

          So here’s my thought. What if, next, we had The Klutz Olympics? As a certified klutz, I can assure you that normally coordinated people cannot fake this, not even clowns, not even actors playing klutzy characters. Those of us who are truly clumsy recognize a well-rehearsed fall or fumble. Nope, you’d have to be a genuine klutz to qualify.

          And then, videographers would simply film us going about our day. Bumping into door jambs, knocking over water bottles, tripping over chairs. Hey—we don’t even need trainers!  Nor do we need to devote hours and hours to practice. We simply do what comes naturally and get medals.

          I can visualize my edited video. It would look like yesterday, in the car with St. Bob.  I was trying to get into the car carrying a box and it smacked me in the face somehow. We drove to the post office where I was going to pop in and mail it.

          Joni: I can’t believe I hit my nose with that box!

Bob: I can.  (Hands me his wallet)

Joni: What if I lose the money? What if I lose your credit card? 

Bob: You’ve already lost it.

          Joni (baring teeth, trying to look tough): I’ll be right back. (And then I tripped up the stairs and dropped the box, my knees and hands slapping the cement.)

          I’m telling you, if we had a Klutz Olympics I’d win, hands and knees down.

          Klutzy or not, I do have hundreds of cool life hacks  on my Youtube channel.  Check ‘em out!

Heck No

           I spent most of my formative years in northern Utah, and when I first saw the movie, Napoleon Dynamite, it felt like a documentary of my childhood, right down to the chicken farms and the 4-H.

          Just to clarify, I did watch it again and thought it was hilarious once I got over the trauma of seeing a tetherball again. But most of all, I loved the “Heck no” phrase, which you can still find in abundance in this region.

          In fact, I am surprised there is no college major offered in hecknology, after which you can become a hecknologist. Or a hecknocrat, you can choose.

          Hecknically, it’s a phrase that elevates no to NO, all the while avoiding profanity, so as not to offend.  And it takes a certain savoir faire, a certain cool polish to speak it correctly (if in doubt, you could call a hecknician to speak for you if you can’t get anyone to offer hecknical support).

          Indeed, not to fall back on a hecknicality, but not everyone has the hecknicological talent for it, nor the hecknique. Sure, you can dance to heckno music, but using it in conversation could make you look like a heckojunkie from questionable hecknography.

          No, it seems only those with real roots in southern Idaho or northern Utah can claim membership in this hecknocracy; only we can engage in hecknicolor  hecknobabble. I suppose tutoring could help erase your hecknofear, but would you ever become a hecknomaniac?  Heck no.

          However, you may console yourself by purchasing my books and reading them to your heart’s content.  That’s a heckuva way to spend an afternoon.

The Chick Magnet

           There’s something about St. Bob that uninhibits women, shall we say.  I’ve seen women make passes at him on the freeway, in meetings, after performances we’ve attended, and once, when we brought some Christmas gifts over to an elderly lady in our church, she whispered, “I love you” to him while I was standing approximately four inches away.

          Another elderly woman, again in our church, told him her garter snapped when she met him.  I’m telling you, I could fill a book with these events.

          So the other day we decided to take the nearby walking path around the wetlands. Two women were approaching, one on her cell phone. Just as they got to us, the phone one said, “Hello, Sunshine!”

          Now, of course Bob insists she was saying this to someone on the phone. But c'mon, this is rather amazing timing, don’t you think? And, given his history as a chick magnet, it could be she was still waiting for someone to pick up.

          And you can take that any way you like.

Why not pick up a couple of my books? It’s too hot to go outside (plus you might run into flirty women), so stay inside and read.

What's That, You Say?

           Have you ever met someone who “hears what they want to hear”?  Yes, you have: Me. 

         A few years ago I asked a group of friends what they would do for a living, if they weren't whatever they are now.  One friend, a doctor, said, "Psychopath."

         I was immediately fascinated. What a cool choice!

         Then he elaborated and I realized he had said "soccer player."

          Okay, not nearly as exciting as a psychopath.

          Then the other day a college student from China, who had recently joined our church, came over for dinner. He was delightful—happy and genial, great sense of humor.

          I asked him what he was majoring in. 

          “Pastry,” he said.

          Ding-ding-ding—best news of the day, right? I told him he could come over and do his homework in our kitchen every single day.

          “That’s so cool that you’re studying pastry,” I said.

          “No, no—history,” he explained.

          Oh. My happy expression melted onto the floor, and here’s where the needle scratches the record, for those of you who know that sound.

          All the wind left my sails.  History?  I mean, I have nothing against that field of study, but compared to pastry?      (sigh)

          These kids today.

Hey, are you having a heat wave where you live?  Staying inside? That’s a perfect time to watch my Youtube Mom videos. Enjoy a pastry while you watch!